


calling out for somebody to hold tonight

by heartinsidemine



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, Fluff, M/M, Platonic Cuddling, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-30
Updated: 2016-05-30
Packaged: 2018-07-11 06:29:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7033507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heartinsidemine/pseuds/heartinsidemine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Dunno why I can’t sleep,” is the first thing Harry says into the still, quiet night. </p>
<p>“New flat, new noises,” Louis murmurs, finally setting the kettle on the stove and turning properly toward him. “New responsibilities, too, eh? Second year, you’re working your way up in the world.”</p>
<p>Harry rolls his eyes, shaking his head. “Nothing’s really new, though, is it? I mean, the location, but… I’ve got the same job I had last year, same basic courses, same workload…” He sighs out, pinching the bridge of his nose. </p>
<p>“You and me are in the same boat, though,” Louis murmurs to him. He hates seeing Harry like this, even though rationally he knows that he can’t do anything about Harry’s insomnia. “Finding it difficult to sleep myself. Was gonna turn on the telly, maybe the cooking channel until I fall asleep. Care to join me?” </p>
<p>He doesn’t think twice about the offer before making it; it only makes sense. They’re both exhausted and they both sleep better with a cuddle, and anyway Louis would absolutely rather have a conversation partner than only the walls of his room for company.</p>
            </blockquote>





	calling out for somebody to hold tonight

**Author's Note:**

> this is pure fluff, because when i couldn't sleep last night i had home stuck in my head. i've got no other excuse.

Louis hasn’t had a good night’s sleep in at least a week. Two, maybe, if he includes the nights he’s woken up to find himself in the living room with little to no idea of how he got there; he hasn’t sleepwalked in years but evidently all it takes is the worry about his future and he’s right back there at that edge. 

Really, he should have expected this. After his (well-earned but still difficult) breakup with Eleanor, he’d thrown himself into several weeks of partying; he woke up more often than not on a friend’s floor, with only his jumper as a pillow and shoes half off. Now that he’s back at uni, however, he won’t allow himself to go out more than once a week (twice if he does particularly well on an exam). 

He’s back at his flat with Harry now, which is the only positive thing in his life. He tries not to think of it in such harsh terms, but it’s true; he’s in his final year of uni and he’s got no fucking clue what he wants to do with the rest of his life. He’s studying law in the hopes that something brilliant will come out of it, but with only a scant few months between him and the hell of the adult world he’s realizing that may be easier said than done. Luckily, though, because there’s an angel watching out for him, he’s got Harry to make him breakfast most days. 

Well, breakfast and lunch; Harry nearly always drops a baked good or two into his rucksack, accompanied sometimes with star-shaped glitter that hangs on Louis for weeks to come or a cheery note wishing him a happy day. Louis hasn’t got a clue where he’s finding the time; Harry interns at Radio One, is part of a band, and is in his second year at uni. Six months ago Louis was crying into his evening tea nearly every night, and he had a girlfriend to comfort him; Harry’s got around a million friends, but as far as Louis knows none of those friends are the sort to give him a cuddle when he needs it. 

That used to fall to Louis, but over the last few weeks Harry’s become more -- reserved or something. Louis can’t quite put his finger on it but there’s absolutely a marked difference in the way he talks to him. He can’t imagine Harry’s upset at him for breaking up with Eleanor; he wasn’t ever particularly fond of her to begin with, preferring to duck out and go meet Nick rather than joining them at the cinema or the skating rink. 

Louis is dragged out of his late-night (god, it’s one in the fucking morning, he realizes when his eyes slide over the bright blue alarm clock on his bedside table) thoughts by the sound of softly padding footsteps. There’s a louder creak, a soft thump, and a hoarse “Shit!”. 

Louis stifles a giggle against his pillow, sitting up after a second. He can hear the water running in the kitchen of their tiny flat. If he thinks hard enough, he can almost picture Harry leaning against the counter, eyes half-closed and sleepy, hair an absolute mess. 

Without thinking too hard about it, Louis swings his legs over the side of his bed and stands up, stepping into an old pair of plaid pajama bottoms and running a hand through his hair so it isn’t terribly messy. He yawns as he steps out of his room, avoiding the creaky floorboard that trips Harry up nearly every night and making his way to the kitchen. 

“Hiya, H,” he says around another yawn, shoulders slumped forward. “Fancy a cuppa?” 

He’s moving to the cabinet before he gets a proper answer, grabbing both his own and Harry’s favorite mugs. He fills the kettle with water on autopilot, cracking his neck. 

“Dunno why I can’t sleep,” is the first thing Harry says into the still, quiet night. 

Louis looks over at him. He looks much like Louis pictured him, but the reality of seeing him there is about a thousand times prettier. Louis feels a bit like he’s going mad with how often he catches himself staring at Harry lately, eyes holding on a sliver of skin where his shirt rides up, the place where he can see the stupid moth tattoo when Harry hasn’t buttoned up his shirt all the way. 

“New flat, new noises,” Louis murmurs, finally setting the kettle on the stove and turning properly toward him. “New responsibilities, too, eh? Second year, you’re working your way up in the world.”

Harry rolls his eyes, shaking his head. His hair is falling out of the messy knot he’d put it in, a few curls framing his face. 

Louis wants to step forward and tuck them behind his ear. He’s absolutely going mad.

“Nothing’s really new, though, is it? I mean, the location, but… I’ve got the same job I had last year, same basic courses, same workload…” He sighs out, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“You and me are in the same boat, though,” Louis murmurs to him. He hates seeing Harry like this, even though rationally he knows that he can’t do anything about Harry’s insomnia. “Finding it difficult to sleep myself. Was gonna turn on the telly, maybe the cooking channel until I fall asleep. Care to join me?” 

He doesn’t think twice about the offer before making it; it only makes sense. They’re both exhausted and they both sleep better with a cuddle, and anyway Louis would absolutely rather have a conversation partner than only the walls of his room for company. 

The kettle whistles and Louis jumps as he always does, though he’s heard it thousands of times at this point in his life. He pours them both a mug and waves away Harry’s insistence that he doesn’t need that much sugar, really. 

“I know how you prefer your tea, love, and  _ just this once _ I’ll let your disgusting habits slide,” he tells him, pressing the warm mug into his hands. He very gently bumps their hips together, mindful of the hot tea they’re both carrying, and makes his way back to his bedroom. 

Harry’s just behind him when he pushes open the door. Louis would feel weird about the state his room is in, but Harry’s known him going on three years now; if he couldn’t handle a little mess he wouldn’t have agreed to live with him this year. He does set his mug down and toss all of the empty crisp bags into (well, near) the bin, though, flopping onto the bed and grinning at Harry. “Here, hand me my laptop. Yeah?” 

Harry hands it over and sits down on the edge of his bed, blowing over the top of his tea. It’s got to be scalding his hands but he holds onto it, staring at it as though he can Divine his future that way. 

“Come on, I don’t bite,” Louis murmurs, reaching out and gently squeezing his bicep. He tugs Harry back just a hair, until he feels Harry relax and lean into the touch as he always does. 

It’s been quite some time since their last proper cuddle, but it (as always) feels as though no time has passed at all. There’s something comfortable about the way Harry fits against his pillows, the sound of him tying up his hair in a tighter knot and the warm weight of him as he leans against Louis, duvet pulled up to his waist. 

Louis hums as he scrolls through Netflix, finally landing on a reality baking show he hasn’t yet seen and looking back at Harry. “Yeah?”

Harry’s answering, “Yeah,” comes through a yawn and accompanied by a bashful, sweet smile. He curls into Louis’s side in the next moment, kitten-like in his small movements. 

He reminds Louis desperately of when they’d first met one another; he was weeks away from his growth spurt and definitely shorter than Louis was. He’s loads taller than him by this point, towers over him in even shoes without a hint of a heel, but he always manages to make himself small enough to fit against Louis’s side. 

“I’m going to fall asleep on you,” Harry tells him, voice curling around the words, already halfway to sleep by the sound of it. 

Louis pats his arm, comforting himself as much as Harry. “You’re always welcome here, love,” he tells him as he hits play, listens to the opening credits. 

True to form, Harry falls asleep before the first commercial break. Louis isn’t far behind. 

*

It sort of becomes a thing, after that. Louis wakes up after Harry to the smell of his shampoo against his sheets and a post-it with a careful and crooked heart on it next to his mug of tea, long gone cold. 

Louis doesn’t have Monday classes this semester; he can lie in bed for as long as he likes and that’s exactly what he chooses to do. 

He sends a text to Harry after a while of lying around, last season’s episodes of  _ The Walking Dead _ playing on his TV. 

To: Harry 12:25

_ I’m getting dinner for us tonight. That was the best sleep I’ve had in months. What do you want? _

He doesn’t get an answer immediately but he doesn’t fret about it. He can never remember exactly what Harry’s schedule is like, but he knows he hardly has time to check his phone some days, he’s so busy. 

He gets an answer nearly an hour later. 

From: Harry 13:17

_ Chinese, please. :) Me, too.  _

It’s simple but it makes some long-dormant part of Louis’s chest kick up. He’s always been sort of crazy about Harry but over the past few weeks he’s all but managed to ignore it, push it to the side; there are things to focus on and that’s not one of them, not right now, not when they’re both so stressed all of the time. 

The reply makes him smile like an idiot, though, and he finally drags himself out of bed to place their order, set for it to arrive at a reasonable time for dinner, he thinks. He has a missed call from his Mum and a text from his boss but this is, for all intents and purposes, his day off; he can wait until tomorrow to get back to them. 

He showers, taking extra care to wash his hair with Harry’s apple-scented shampoo. He chances a look at himself in the mirror after he’s dressed, feeling -- awfully nervous, and feeling terrible about just how nervous he feels. He shouldn’t, he knows that rationally. Harry isn’t anyone scary, he’s just  _ Harry _ . 

The thing, though, the thing is that Louis hasn’t gotten to cuddle with him like that in ages and he can’t deny the addictive quality it has to be that close to him, pressed against one another. He can’t deny what it is that he wants. 

He spends the rest of the afternoon much like that, waiting as patiently as he can for Harry to come back. When he finally hears the jingling of his keys outside of their door he sits up, suddenly desperate to see him as well as desperate to avoid him forever. That feeling, that push-pull of both wanting to drown in his presence as well as run, is one he’s gotten used to. Harry’s attention on him is the best thing Louis can remember; it’s cheesy, to say it like that, but Louis knows that it’s the truth. 

He sits up and mutes the telly, crying, “Haz!” as soon as he’s walked through the door. 

As soon as he sees Harry’s face, though, all hints of mirth leave his voice. He looks downtrodden, looks like he had when he hadn’t gotten top marks in his first year, but deeper now. He drops his knapsack onto the ground and smiles at Louis, a watery, wavering sort of thing. 

Louis is hugging him in a second, going up on his tiptoes so Harry can still have the feeling of being comforted even though he’s a fucking giant. “What’s wrong, eh?” he asks him, rubbing down his back like his mum used to do when he was a kid. He’s gotten used to treating Harry much like he would a child; he may want to shag him but that doesn’t mean Harry doesn’t need to be taken care of. 

Harry shivers, pressing his face against Louis’s shoulder. “Don’t laugh,” he mumbles, and his voice is free of teasing, free of laughter. 

“I wouldn’t,” Louis promises, because it’s the truth. Not when Harry’s upset like this; he only teases when things are brilliant. 

Harry nods, and takes a deep, slow breath. “I’m failing,” he says. A second later he corrects himself. “Or -- not yet but I will be. I’m in this fucking -- fucking Economics class and I haven’t been focusing on it like I should and I got my results on the last exam and I -- I fucking failed it, Lou.” His voice breaks at the end of it, and he slumps even more heavily against Louis. 

Louis’s heart is aching for him. He doesn’t much care about grades himself but he knows how desperately important they are to Harry, knows how hard he works. “Come here, love,” he murmurs, pulling back to lead him to the couch. He settles them with Harry’s head on his lap, fingers running through his hair. He leaves the telly on mute for now, doesn’t fancy watching a game with Harry so clearly distressed. “Want to put on a film tonight? I know you’ve got work in the morning but we can have a bit of fun. I’ve got food on the way, should be here in a quarter of an hour if the delivery guy’s on time.” He keeps his voice gentle, fingers still tracing through his hair. 

Harry makes a soft noise that Louis would call a purr if that didn’t make his heart do all sorts of terrible, fond things.  He rolls easily onto his back and looks up at Louis. From this angle, with his hair fanned out above him, he looks perfect. 

Sometimes it hits him in waves, how desperately he loves him, how he’d do anything in the world if it meant making this boy happy. 

“You’re busy,” Harry murmurs, “I know you haven’t done your homework yet, and --”

“You know no such thing,” Louis interrupts, though Harry’s right. Of course he is. “I haven’t got a thing in the world that I’d rather do tonight than cheer you up. Let me, yeah? I’ve been a bit of a shit flatmate this year, let me try to make it up to you.”

Harry’s smile goes a little sad, but he turns so his face is toward Louis’s stomach, resting his head on his thigh. “You’ve been wonderful. You’re always wonderful, you know that,” he murmurs, voice muffled against the worn denim on Louis’s legs. 

Louis scoffs, running his fingers through his hair again, more slowly this time. “I’m glad to see you’ve finally noticed,” he says, a teasing lilt to his voice. “Was getting a bit awkward with you not acknowledging it.”

Harry, predictably, rolls his eyes and bites Louis’s leg, presumably because it’s so close to his mouth. “Yeah, yeah, you know I love you,” he tells him.

Louis does, is the thing. He knows just how much Harry loves him and that’s the reason he wants to be the best that he can be for him; the love is absolutely reciprocated, felt times a thousand, and he hopes that gets across. “Here, budge up,” he tells him after a second, rubbing over one of his arms. “I want to give you a real hug, yeah?” 

Harry doesn’t say anything but he does sit up, leaning heavily against Louis and wrapping himself around him. His hair is tickling his nose but Louis doesn’t mention it; if he does that Harry will pull away and try to fix it, and secretly this version of Harry, messy and hardly put together, is Louis’s favorite version of all. 

Louis smiles and rubs over his back, murmuring, “You’re okay, love. I can call up Liam, you know, see if he can get Zayn to give you some advice? Maybe tutor you a little?” 

Harry makes a face; Louis can feel it against his shoulder. “I don’t need a bloody tutor, I can figure it out on my own,” he says. 

He does this sometimes, gets too cocky and ends up crashing and burning later. Louis very gently swats him on the back of the head and says, “Nope, this is non-negotiable. We’re going to call him up. Zayn tutored me in maths back in college, there’s no way you’ll be a worse student than I was.” 

Harry sighs. “Not tonight, please,” he mumbles, leaning even more heavily against Louis now. “I just want to, like. Spend time with you.” 

“Of course,” Louis murmurs back, smiling at how sweet and cuddly he’s being. “I’m not sharing you with anyone tonight, don’t worry. I’ll steal your phone, even, that way you can’t respond when Nick asks you to a party tonight.”

“It’s a Monday night,” Harry mumbles, already sounding sort of sleepy like he does whenever Louis cuddles him like this. “He wouldn’t ask today.”

“Yes he would, because he’s a terrible influence on you,” Louis says as primly as he can, squeezing his arm. “You forget that I live with you, I’ve heard you come in at all hours of the night.” He’s definitely exaggerating, but it’s worth it for the little giggle that Harry lets out, and when he pulls away he doesn’t look nearly as heartbroken as he did before. 

“Fine, fine,” Harry says, pulling away completely and grabbing his phone out of his jeans, passing it over. “Since you bought me dinner, I suppose I can’t really complain.”

Louis grins, tossing it onto the couch next to the blanket he was cuddled up with. “Good boy,” he says, petting his hair first to one side and then the other. 

Just as Harry’s closing his eyes and leaning into his touch (honestly, he’s more cat than human sometimes, Louis thinks), the doorbell rings. 

“I’ll be right back,” he tells him, patting his thigh as he gets up, grabbing his wallet and bringing it to the door. He realizes once he’s there that he’s ordered way too much food for the two of them, but that’s okay; they’ll have leftovers for the rest of the week, which means Harry won’t have an excuse to go out with Nick or anyone else. 

(He’s a bit of a jealous bastard, he knows; he manages to keep it to himself most of the time, though, and Harry never seems to mind giving his attention to Louis.) 

“Here we are!” he calls, nearly dropping one of the bags in his rush to get back into the living room. Harry’s sat on the couch, looking marginally more chipper than he had when he came in at first. He sets the bags on the table with a flourish, grinning.

“Jesus, did you buy one of everything?” Harry asks, laughing and reaching for the bag closest to him.

“Just about,” he says happily. “I couldn’t choose and I’m starving.” He sits down on the floor in front of the coffee table, legs crossed on the floor in front of him. He pulls Harry closer to him, squeezing his thigh once before he lets go. “Pick something for us to watch,” he says around a mouthful of rice. “Anything, and this is the only time I’m offering that so use it as you will.” 

Harry laughs and picks up the remote, flicking through the channels. An episode of  _ Keeping Up With the Kardashians  _ comes on and he laughs, turning to wink at Louis. “Anything, really?” 

“Yes,” Louis says with a long-suffering sigh, leaning back. “Even this, though don’t expect me to have a fucking clue what’s going on.” Though he’ll never admit it, he’d watch days of reality TV if it meant spending all that time with Harry. God, he’s fucked. 

An hour later, they’re picking at the last of their food and Harry is nodding off against Louis’s shoulder, his hair tickling Louis’s neck. 

Louis gently shifts so he can grab the remote, turning the volume down and looking at him. He very carefully maneuvers so he can get the empty box out of Harry’s hand. 

“Lou,” Harry mumbles, shifting a little and turning toward Louis. 

Louis’s heart aches in the best possible way. He smiles and whispers, “Come on, love, let’s get you to bed.” 

Harry shakes his head, sleepily blinking at him. “No, I don’t want to stop cuddling you,” he mumbles, yawning after a second. 

Louis can’t help his terribly wide grin. He gently runs his fingers through Harry’s hair, looking him over. “Let’s have a cuddle, then. Stay the night in my room,” he tells him. 

Harry sits up a little more, just barely frowning. “Really?” he asks, sounding suspicious. “Are you even -- shit, tired?” he asks around another yawn. 

“Course I am,” Louis says. “Anyway, I promised you a cuddle and I’ve got to deliver. Can’t have you being all alone and upset, now, can I?” 

Harry shakes his head, smiling at him and stretching his arms above his head. “‘M just gonna change really quick, yeah?” he asks, looking down at himself, his legs jammed into a pair of incredibly tight jeans.

"Of course," Louis says, smiling at him. "I'll get everything out here cleaned up, you go do what you need to do?" He keeps his voice intentionally gentle; he doesn't want to worry him, doesn't want to make him any more upset than he is already. 

Harry nods, looking down at his knees for a second. "Thank you," he finally says, chancing a glance up at him. "Like -- you don't need to -- this." 

Louis frowns. "I love you," he tells him seriously. "You're -- shit, you're my best mate. Of course I need to cheer you up if I can." 

Harry smiles at that. "I thought Liam was your best mate," he mumbles. He's obviously teasing, fishing for reassurance. 

Unfortunately, Louis is obnoxiously endeared by him. "Nah, it's you. Don't tell Liam, though, don't want to hurt the poor boy's feelings," he teases. 

Harry laughs. His voice is shaking a little, but it sounds sort of sure. 

"Go on," Louis murmurs, nudging him again. He stands up, gathering the plasticware off the table. "Go take a shower, get dressed. Set up a candle for the two of us." 

Harry's lips quirk up into a smile. "Romantic, aren't we," he says, laughing a little, a short, breathless thing. 

Louis can't deny it. "Yeah," he says, grinning right back at him. "Too bad there isn't a flower shop nearby, I'd spread rose petals all along the bed." He's way too far gone to not be honest with Harry; anyway, there's always going to be a small, hopeful part of him that wants to know if Harry might ever feel the same, or even some tiny bit the same. 

"Thank you," is all Harry says, and he pushes himself up, brushing off his legs. He shakes out his hair, a nervous tic that Louis has to try very hard not to follow with his eyes. "I'll, um..."

"Go," Louis agrees, gently nudging him with his foot. "Go on, love."

After one last look at him Harry does head off, and Louis saves his desperately soppy grin until after he turns away, dropping his head against his hands and letting out a little desperate giggle. 

*

He gets the living room mostly cleaned up before he hears the shower shut off, and he heads back into his bedroom, pulling off his shirt and changing into an old, worn one that might be stolen from Harry (it's hard to remember, now, what belongs to who). 

He hears Harry's slow footsteps before he registers that he's there. There's a soft knock at the door.

"Come on in," Louis says, already sat on the edge of his bed. He smiles up at him. 

Harry steps inside slowly, holding two candles up. "All right. Vanilla or lilac?" he asks, still standing in front of Louis.

"This is about you! What relaxes you more?"

Harry wrinkles his nose. "They both do, that's the problem," he says, voice on the edge of a petulant whine. "Come on, please. Choose?" 

After a second Louis laughs and says, "All right, all right. Vanilla for tonight, lilac for tomorrow." 

"Ooh, making plans for tomorrow already," Harry teases, setting both candles on Louis's bedside table and lighting the larger one. "You're an excellent flatmate, I hope you know."

"You've mentioned a time or two," he agrees, leaning back against his sheets and pulling the duvet down to his hips, patting the space next to him. 

Harry smiles and climbs into bed, crossing his legs in front of him. It's then that Louis notices just how near to naked he is; he's only wearing a pair of loose grey pants and Louis can see that his body is covered in tattoos. He knew that already, of course, but he can see a few that he hasn't noticed before. Notably, Harry appears to have something on his hips, something that looks like leaves. 

He doesn't think about it before he leans over and rests a hand on his hip, grinning up at him. "What's this, eh? Haven't seen this one before," he says, looking down at his waist and then up at his face. 

Harry looks -- his face is indescribable. His mouth is open in a small 'o', eyes dark and hair tied in a knot at the base of his neck. "Yeah," he says, and gives him a little smile. "Want to see 'em?"

It's a blatant offer, and Louis can't even think of turning it down. "Yeah, let me see. Have to check whether your taste in tattoos is as good as it was before or if you're losing your touch," he says, and his fingers are shaking a little. He's outright staring now, can't help it when Harry's offering this easily.

Harry shivers and tugs down the edge of his pants, until his left hip is revealed, showing off a laurel that runs across the bone. "I think they're pretty," he murmurs, watching Louis quietly. 

Louis reaches out, tracing his fingers over the black ink. It doesn't feel any different than the rest of his skin. "Not a new tattoo," he muses, leaving his fingertips there. "When'd you get it done?"

"Just before the summer ended," he murmurs, eyes fixed on Louis's hand. He squirms just a little, a movement that Louis doesn't miss. 

"They're gorgeous," Louis murmurs, finally looking up to his face. "I mean -- so're you, obviously, but. They enhance it." 

Harry watches him, tilting his chin up just a little. He shifts his hips and murmurs, "Have to see both of them to get the full effect, though, don't you think?" 

"Absolutely," Louis agrees, a small bit of hope blooming in his chest. He sits up a little more and swings one of his legs over his waist, straddling his hips and looking down. "Imagine this is the angle you intended them to be looked at, isn't it?" he asks, voice low, breathy already. 

Harry nods slowly and tugs the other side of his pants down. Louis can't help but notice the way the pants cling to the line of his dick, already half-hard. 

His head is spinning with all of the things he wants to ask for, all of the things he wants to do. He settles for rubbing his thumbs over the outer edges, looking at them. "Dunno if gorgeous is the right word for it," he considers, keeping his fingers light on his skin. "Sexy, maybe, might be a better word."

Harry shifts under him again, pulling his hands back to rest on the pillow next to his head. "Do you think?" he asks.

Louis looks up at him, tilting his head. "You know they are," he teases, flattening his palm against his stomach, fingers at the edge of his moth tattoo. "S'why you get 'em where you do, isn't it? Want to make a good impression on anyone you're pulling?" He watches, fascinated, as Harry's cheeks go red, as he looks away, up at the ceiling and then back at Louis. 

"What are you doing?" he asks in a whisper not a minute later, hands gripping the pillow. 

Louis desperately hopes that some part of him stays there, that even after tonight there will be a trace of Harry left on his sheets, for him to remember him by. He shrugs, tracing patterns over his chest, careful and methodical. "Cuddling with you," he murmurs, because he's a bit of a coward, always has been. "Cheering you up."

"Don't just -- compliment me to cheer me up," Harry says, adding a, "please," a second later. He pulls back a little, going stiff like he's about to kick Louis off of his lap. 

"I'm not," he promises, adding just a little bit of pressure against his chest, trying to keep him in place. "I -- I mean it. I swear. Course I think you're gorgeous. Fit, sexy, however you want to put it."

Harry lowers his eyes, staring at Louis's chest. It thrills him in a terribly brilliant way to know that Harry's checking him out, brings back that bit of hope he'd felt earlier. "So are you," he murmurs. 

Louis shakes his head. "Not talking about me just now, are we? I'm not the one who had a shitty day. All I did was sit around waiting for you to come back..." He keeps his voice light, but he knows Harry can hear the truth there. 

“You did not,” Harry murmurs, but he doesn’t sound as sure as he might have before. 

“I really did,” Louis admits, smiling, a little lopsided. His fingers are still on his chest, and he can feel the way Harry’s heart picks up speed. “Like -- woke up alone and all I could think about was getting you back here.”

“Lou,” Harry murmurs, looking up at him. He brings one of his hands down, wrapping his fingers very gently around his wrist. 

“I mean it,” Louis murmurs, tapping his fingers against his chest, very soft. “I always -- always want you around, I mean, but I think I sort of -- forgot what it was like to fall asleep with you.”

“Lou,” Harry says again, but it sounds less confused, closer to a plea. 

It’s now or never, Louis thinks, because he doesn’t know when he’s going to get another chance like this. “It’s -- I never sleep as well as I do when I’m with you.”

Harry’s just watching him now. Even his breathing is barely audible.

“So what do you say?” Louis asks, fingers finally stilling. “Care to stay with me every night?” It’s as much as he feels like he can offer right now; anything else and he might faint with nerves. 

Harry laughs, shaky and soft but  _ there _ . “How can I turn down an offer like that?” 

“You could,” Louis allows, smiling very gently. “If you like.”

“Nah,” Harry says, going pliant and relaxed against the bed. He smiles, and Louis might be projecting but it looks like he can’t  _ stop _ smiling. God. “I’ll sleep in your bed anytime you want me to. Unless you’d like to go to mine sometime, change it up…”

Louis’s answering grin feels terribly obvious. “We can work out a schedule,” he assures him, slowly becoming more relaxed the longer the conversation goes on. He does eventually slip to the side so he can cuddle him, arm around his waist. 

They’re close, closer than Louis can remember them being. Harry’s face is a little blurry, lips still parted a little and seemingly not breathing. 

Louis can’t do anything but kiss him. 

He keeps his hand on his waist, fingers barely digging into his side. It’s a light kiss, more tentative than anything else. 

After a moment Harry responds in kind, leaning closer and bringing up a hand to cup Louis’s cheek. Louis can feel his fingers trembling. That realization makes him feel protective, makes him irrationally jealous of anyone else who’s made him this nervous though he knows it’s awful to think that way. 

Harry is the one to pull away. Louis nearly chases his mouth but he has to know, whispers, “Yeah?” into the space between their mouths. 

Harry breathes too quickly, almost as though he’s panting. “This isn’t just to cheer me up?” he murmurs, lips brushing against the corner of his mouth with how close they are. 

Every nerve in Louis’s body feels on edge. He can hardly think of anything but how much he wants to keep kissing him, wants to leave a mark on his neck and bring him back here every fucking day for a year, ten years, a lifetime. “No,” he finally says when he realizes he hasn’t answered yet. “No, it’s because I want to kiss you all the time.” 

Harry laughs, nose brushing against his hair. “All the time? You’re eager, aren’t you,” he murmurs, slowly getting an arm further around him, slipping one of his legs in between Louis’s. He kisses him again, hardly a kiss at all so much as a breath, a natural extension of their position. 

“All the time. Since I met you,” Louis murmurs, smiling against his mouth. “Gotta kiss me well now to make up for it.”

Harry laughs, kissing him a little harder. “Is that so?” he asks. “Are you going to revoke my kissing privileges if I’m not good enough?”

“Absolutely,” Louis mumbles, bringing a hand up to the back of his neck, tugging the elastic out of his hair and getting it around his wrist. “Step one: stop putting your bloody hair up. Want to grab it, can’t when you’ve got it tied.” 

Harry laughs, a breathless and pleased sound. “All right,” he murmurs, tugging back on Louis’s lip a little bit. He pulls back to look over his face, small smile on the edges of his mouth. “Any other tips?” 

“Don’t kiss anyone else, that’s very important,” he tells him seriously, hand squeezing lightly at the back of his neck. “Unless you’d  _ really _ like to, of course, but… I’d rather it be just me.”

Harry’s eyes go soft and fond. “I’ll only kiss you, yeah,” he promises, looking at him. “You’re the only one I’m really interested in kissing, you know that.”

“I do not!” he insists, giving his hip a gentle pinch. “Would’ve kissed you fucking ages ago if I had.”

Harry laughs, pressing his head back against Louis’s hand and grinning at him. “Ages, hmm? This isn’t some new hypnosis brought on by my laurels?”

“Temporary insanity, maybe,” Louis allows, looking down at them, playing with the band of his pants. “Fuck,” he mumbles, leaning forward for another kiss, more eager than he has been.  _ You’re the only one I’m interested in kissing _ , Harry’s voice repeats in his ears. “So are you,” he murmurs after a second. 

“What?” Harry asks, and he sounds like he’s been dragged out of his reverie. 

“You’re, like. The only one I want to kiss,” Louis murmurs. “Have been for a while, actually.” 

Harry lets out a quiet groan, curling closer toward him and tilting his head for a deeper kiss, letting his mouth drift open and licking into his mouth. “Shit,” he whispers. 

Louis can’t hold in his laugh at that. He pulls back and murmurs, “Do you like hearing that, then?” 

Harry blushes, pressing his forehead against his shoulder. “Shut up,” he mumbles. 

“Do you  _ fancy _ me, Harold?” Louis asks, pulling away so he can get a good look at his face. He’s delighted, honestly. “Like, proper fancy me?”

“Shut  _ up _ ,” he murmurs again, giggling sort of helplessly. 

“You do!” Louis says around another laugh, grabbing his waist again. “Have you been fantasizing about holding my hand? D’you just want to lie in bed together and talk about our feelings for hours?” 

“That’s it, I’m going back to my bed for the night,” Harry says with a dramatic flourish, moving as though he’s about to get up. 

“No!” Louis insists, grabbing his arm and tugging him close. “No, god, I love it. Been dreaming about that same shit myself for ages, actually.” 

Harry grins up at him, his stupid dimple showing. “Have you?”

“Come off it, don’t make me say it again,” Louis pleads quietly, grabbing his hand and tangling their fingers together. He pulls up his hand and kisses his knuckles, looking at him. “I’m sort of -- yeah, god. I’m crazy about you, all right?” He’s attempting to make himself sound as petulant as possible but he knows the fondness is shining through. 

Harry’s grinning at him, hand on his cheek again. “So am I,” he tells him quietly, looking over his face with a happy little sound. “Shit.” 

The scent of vanilla is still floating through the air, helping to set this absurdly romantic mood they’re in right now. Louis feels over his hip, resting his hand on his thigh. 

“I’m not bloody tired now,” Harry murmurs, though he’s smiling, dimples still on show. “Just want to keep kissing you.” 

“Keep kissing me, then. Skip work tomorrow,” Louis insists, kissing his jaw, feeling the tiniest bit of stubble under his mouth. “Text Nick and tell him you’re terribly busy and you’ll make it up to him later, I’ll skip my courses and we can spend all day right here.”

He isn’t entirely kidding but he isn’t expecting Harry to take him seriously. When Harry clearly considers it, frowning a little bit, Louis feels his heart absolutely melt. 

“I know I’m not supposed to take up all your time but I don’t want you away from my bed until I’ve gotten to have my mouth all over you,” he tells him seriously, squeezing his hip and nosing behind his ear. “One day? Please?”

Harry groans and pulls him into another kiss, murmuring, “God, all right. Give me my phone.”

“Really?” Louis grins, hands flat on Harry’s chest. “You  _ do _ fancy me.”

“I’ll change my mind,” Harry warns, though Louis very sincerely hopes it’s an empty threat. 

Louis pouts but hands his phone over, still leaning on his chest. “Go on. Tell him your very sweet flatmate is going to be taking care of you.” 

Harry laughs and sends out the appropriate text, adding a very sweet blushing emoji to the end of it, before he hands the phone back to Louis, stretching out on the bed straight after. “My flatmate, eh?” he asks. “Is this how you treated Liam when you lived with him last year as well, then?” 

Louis rolls his eyes, though he can’t deny the pleased little swoop his stomach gives at that. “Now, now, no need to be jealous, Harold,” he tells him seriously, kissing the corner of his mouth. “I’ve never, not  _ once _ thought about Liam in any romantic way.”

Harry grins. “Good,” he says happily. His phone buzzes where Louis has set it down on the counter, but they both ignore it. He catches Louis’s mouth in another kiss, and then another, slowly easing him back against the pillows until Harry’s straddling his thighs, kissing him with a sort of frenzied fervor. 

*

Louis wakes up to an empty bed. 

He has half a second of panic before he opens his eyes and sees Harry in the doorway, walking back to bed in the same pants he’d gone to sleep in.

“Come back,” he murmurs, stretching and letting out a yawn. “You don’t have anything to do today. Come here.”

“I’ve got tea on, though,” Harry protests, but he allows himself to be pulled into bed, into another kiss from Louis. 

Louis loves tea; he loves Harry more, though, and he tells him as much between kisses, gently easing him back until he hears the whistle of the kettle. “Kind of breaks the mood, doesn’t it,” he murmurs, forehead against Harry’s cheek. 

“I’ll be right back,” Harry promises as he pulls himself away, kissing Louis’s hair as he stands up. He hasn’t bothered to fix his own and Louis can’t help the soppy grin he has plastered on his face. 

“You’d better,” Louis calls as Harry walks down the hallway. 

He is. 

**Author's Note:**

> you're welcome to come and talk to me on twitter about harry and louis, i'm @ defnseless :)


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